Shadows in the Dark
by Farrel
Summary: In this mountainous land known as Skyrim there are many tales and songs told by the bards, perhaps the most well known is that of the Dovakhin. The Dragonborn who with the power of the voice fought against the awakening of the long dead Dragons and their master the great black drake Alduin. This is not that tale...But one of many yet to be told...
1. Prologue

In this mountainous land known as Skyrim there are many tales and songs told by the bards, during the longs nights when the shadows close in around the homes of men and even the pale mooon is hidden by great dark clouds. When the fires leap high sending sparks showering back down into the long hearths so favoured by the Nords, are these stories told. Small deeds and great battles, far off lands and strange creatures.

Perhaps the most well known of these stories is that of the Dovakhin, the Dragonborn who blessed with the power of the voice fought against the re-awakening of the long dead dragons and their master the great black drake Alduin. Aided by the Greybeards and many others the dragon was eventually thrown down and peace returned to the lands.

This is not that tale, but one of many yet to be told.


	2. Chapter 1

_Lay down your sweet and weary head._  
_Night is falling._  
_You have come to journeys end._  
_Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before._  
_They are calling._  
_From across the distant shore._

_Why do you weep?_  
_What are these tears upon your face?_  
_Soon you will see._  
_All of your fears will pass away, safe in my arms._  
_You're only sleeping._

_What can you see?_  
_On the horizon._  
_Why do the white gulls call?_  
_Across the sea._  
_A pale moon rises._  
_The ships have come to carry you home._

_And all will turn to silver glass._  
_A light on the water._  
_All souls pass._

_Hope fades._  
_Until the world of night._  
_Through shadows falling._  
_Out of memory and time._  
_Don't say we have come now to the end._  
_White shores are calling._  
_You and I will meet again._

_And you'll be here in my arms._  
_Just sleeping._

_What can you see?_  
_On the horizon._  
_Why do the white gulls call?_  
_Across the sea._  
_A pale moon rises._  
_The ships have come to carry you home._

_And all will turn to silver glass._  
_A light on the water._  
_Grey ships pass._

_Into the west..._

The song echoed though the close chambers and dusty tunnels of the ancient crypt, a place long bereft of living voices that had been left only to the dead. It wasn't an unpleasant voice; slightly husky in its tones as the last notes faded into the darkness. In a largish rounded chamber partially choked with fallen rock and broken burial urns two figures could be seen. One sat with his back resting against the largest pile of debris a long bright sword lying unsheathed upon his knee's and a travel worn cloak pulled tight around his body to ward of the chill of the tomb. The other the one who had been singing was standing one clawed hand over his heart as his song finished. He too wore a much worn cloak and upon his back rested a large black bow with a half full quiver of arrows to compliment it. At their feet lay a dead woman a Khajiit a heavy looking dart protruding from her shoulder blades. From the look of the wound and the dried blood it had happened some days ago another treasure seeker who hadent been as careful as they perhaps should. It was not unheard of traps in the darkness. Set in the barrows of the draugr and many others to snare the unwary and incautious.

The sitter looked up impatiently at his companion, though not without some pity. He knew that his friend had known her, they had been lovers and they had parted on bad terms when she insisted on coming here...

Long ears laid flat against his skull the male Khajiit knelt and pressed a hand to the woman's cold face. A single tear rolled silently down his furry black and white face crossing over the three scars that cut their way across his nose before dripping off his chin, down onto her face and so it seemed to him that she too cried as that tear drop carried on its path down her cheek.

A noise in the dark tunnel ahead of them like a low growl mixed with a strange guttural voice made both them glance up sharply. The Khajiit who could see far better in the dark than his companion hissed between his teeth and standing quickly pulled the bow from his back nocking an arrow. Beside him his companion drew his own bow, though it was much smaller it was no less deadly and side by side they stood as the creature shambled into the rounded room while behind it more moved into vision.

"Draugr scum!" Hissed the Argonian his slitted eyes narrowing in distaste at the rotted and shambling corpses in front of him.

His friend hissed again nose wrinkling at the stench of decay that emanated from the creatures as they stepped forward relentlessly. In their hands they held long double handed swords from ancient times inscribed with old Nord runes, unwieldy and yet still very deadly especially in the hands of the undead whose strength had not waned with the passing ages of the world above.

With a snarl the Khajiit let loose his arrow that whistled sharply through the cold air seemingly to slow in its path before it struck the lead creature in the forehead destroying what was left of its rotted brain and dropping the shambling horror to the ground. A second arrow shot by his friend and then a third hit another of the things as they stepped into the chamber. Ancient curses and muttered growls assaulted the pair as the creatures advanced blades held high eager to deal the final blow to these thieves, the living who had no place in the halls of the long dead.

With a shout the Argonian lunged forward dropping his bow and instead drawing his blades. He whirled into the massed undead like a tornado, blades slashing a silver arc in the air as he cut them down. Either side of him two more fell pieced with the Khajiit's vengeful arrows, a third was thrown backwards by another as it sought to cut the Argonian down from behind. Kura nodded his thanks to the other before swinging into a circle one blade held high the other low in his hands cutting deep into another of the creatures that grunted something unintelligible as it fell to the ground to writhe for a few moments before becoming still.

The Argonian's eyes widened as he spotted peril behind his friend and yet he could not reach him as the draugr that had appeared from the doorway stepped forwards long sword held ready. Time seemed to slow as the blade rose higher and yet even as Kura fought through the last of the undead in front of him he knew he wouldn't be in time. Yet even as the blade swung down in a blow that should have decapitated the Khajiit the lynx like cat swept to the side bringing his bow around in a crushing sweep that knocked the thing back stunned. Before it could recover he drew a sharp wickedly curved dagger and expertly slashed into the dry rotting flesh. The draugr dropped perhaps not even realising its unlife had been stolen from it and as the last living corpse fell to Kura's hungry blades the pair of them stood in the desolation breathing heavily.

"We can't stay here..." Kura looked up sharply at his friend as he sheathed his weapons and moved to retrieve his bow.

The Khajiit had turned back to the female that lay on the floor and he seemed to be waging a silent war deep within his heart. Kneeling he pulled a small amulet from around her neck before placing a last tender kiss on her forehead.

"Alright, lets go..."

With a last regret filled glance at the woman he stood and moved toward the door that would lead them back to the entrance only to stop and sniff at the air. Growling low in his throat and moved quickly to the only other exit from the room.

"What is it?"

"More Draugr Kura and I don't believe we can win this fight there are too many. The only way out it seems is to go deeper, there may be another way out of this place."

Without waiting he heading quickly through the door leaving the Argonian to stare back at the other exit and indeed he could begin to see shadows dancing on the walls from the torches that lit the old corridors. With a curse he moved quickly to follow the other.

Both now mindful that they were being pursued they quickened their pace trusting to the eyes of the Khajiit where the torches had failed and darkness ruled the tunnels.

"How far do you think this goes?" Kura questioned as they swept down another tunnel lined with burial niches holding the bones of the dead. They didn't frighten him but the lizard man couldent shake the feeling that they were watching him.

"I don't know but can't you feel it? The air is colder and a breeze is blowing though it is faint but it smells like the outside, like the snow and fire trees."

"Pfff I'll leave the sniffing and smelling to you but you had better be damn right. I have no intention of ending up as another pretty corpse wandering forever and slowly falling to bits."

"You wouldn't make a pretty corpse anyway my friend." The Khajiit chuckled before falling into silence and without another word he quickened his pace leaving the Argonian to trail behind him. The pursuit seemed to have vanished their quick pace having left the rotting draugr behind but that didn't mean they couldent catch up.

"I'll be glad when we get back to Whiterun and get some beer and meat into my belly I don't remember the last time I was properly drunk..."

As he grumbled he nearly walked straight into the back on his friend who had stopped and as Kura looked around he realised they had come out into another large chamber this one again filled with rock and burial urns though these were mostly untouched. There were many black tombs around the room, most lying empty but their owners were not far away dead upon the ground and Kura surmised they too must have been draugr wakened from their slumber by something or someone.

At the front on a raised dais was a stone throne upon which a larger Draugr sat splayed across it limbs akimbo a death mask on its face. Beyond that was a large grey wall and as the pair stepped towards it nerves on fire alert and tensed they could see that it was cut with many strange marks that seemed almost to be words.

"I have heard of these but I never thought to see one." The Khajiit mumbled half to himself.

"What is it? Looks like a load of Skeever scratching to me."

The cat tutted at his friend running a hand over the marks carefully.

"It was said in some stories that the Dovakhin could learn words of power, shouts as they were called from stone walls like this that added to his power of the voice."

Kura grunted. "You really believe that? Mammoth dung if you asked me."

He looked up along a narrow path that rose above the chamber towards an opening in the rock.

"Alright lets get out of here; I've had my fill of death and bones for one day."

The Khajiit nodded "Alright."

The pair of them set off along the rock path and true to the Cat's nose and Kura's guesses it soon led them to an opening in the rock where snow could been seen with the suns last rays tinting it a golden yellow that seemed to make it glow.

With a sigh they both stepped out blinking in the light as their eyes now accustomed to the gloom of the barrow adjusted to the higher light of outside. They seemed to have come in a wide circle and as they trudged through the snow they soon found the traces of their camp half buried beneath the white and their horses still tethered to thick tree's where they had left them the night before.

"Well that's a stroke of luck and make no mistake about that I was thinking we were going to have to walk all the way back to Whiterun." He ran a hand over his horses neck the animal giving a whinny of greeting. The Khajiit's own horse a handsome bay champed slowly at the bit and stared at the Argonian with sad brown eyes.

"Hey are you even listening to me?"

Kura turned to look at his friend who was standing staring at the bleak tomb.

"Hikaru... Let her go, she's in a better place now you can trust to that."

The other turned and smiled slowly at his companion.

You are right of course Kura, its just a hard thing to say goodbye...

He stared for a few moments at the barrow.

Alright lets see if we can make it back to Whiterun without any MORE mishaps

TBC


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The lowest floor of the stone tower housed a decrepit dungeon that stank of blood, stale piss and fear. Around the closed in space several cells had been roughly hewn from the rock and then barred with heavy iron doors, while around the walls a few torches cast flickering shadows that danced around the stained stonework adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Each of the cells had occupants, though not all of them living; the think stench of decay adding to the miasma of foul scents already hanging in the dank air.

The cell closest to a wooden door held what looked like a large black insect, it was clearly dead but no less terrifying for that. Had it been standing on its thick segmented legs its broad flat head would have been level or perhaps slightly higher than a fully grown man. It seemed to be covered in a natural plated armour that ran all the way across its back and down to the long tail behind. The chest and front area's too were covered, though in these places it was thinner and slightly lighter in colour. Yet it would take a lucky strike to get past the insects covering and not many would have been willing to take on such a creature.

Large serrated mandibles extended from its evil looking face, capable of easily severing an arm or hand or even worse, and they were known to spit an acidic and venomous substance that could kill within a few seconds. In short one of the many unsavoury creatures that inhabited the underworld of Skyrim's caves...A Chaurus.

In the cell next to it a pale creature gnawed ravenously on an old bone, thick drool slavering down from its jaws. It was naked save a soiled filthy rag covering its hips and groin. Long red welts could be seen running parallel to each other along the things back and though it seemed to be starved to the point of emaciation with its bones showing clearly through the white skin, it seemed to possess a wiry strength still and a ferocious cunning not dimmed by its long years as a captive of the one above.

It was blind. Generations of its ancestors having been so after the betrayal yet its sense of hearing and smell had been heightened to such a degree that it could hear a feather land on the snow. It had once been a light dweller, part of an ancient race known as the Snow Elves. After centuries of enslavement by the dwarves however the race had acquired a different name one that was known from the far reaches of Markarth right down to the seedy districts of Riften. A name that many adventures whispered in fear as they delved deep into ancient ruins filled with the hissing steam and clanking mechanisms of the long vanished Dwemer... The Falmer.

A soft sound which perhaps even the sharpest eared Khajiit would not have heard fell on the stones outside the wooden door. At once a chorus of fearful chattering and shrieks emerged from the other captives, more Falmer in much the same condition as the first.

The one with the bone had not made a sound and even as the portal swung open to reveal a tall figure robed in deepest black all it did was cock its head slightly. As the robed one crossed to a tall wooden desk silence fell. The first Falmer followed the figure with unseeing eyes and ever so slowly tilted its head to sniff at the foul air. A scent it had come to know well washed over it like a great tide, even fouler than the stench that permeated the lowest reaches of the Ratway in Riften.

A scent of much spilt blood, decay and death. It was almost a palpable thing, the scent of old bones and tight shrivelled skin stretched over the corpses of this mans victims. For this one was to be feared by both the living and the dead, he was Hadvar a man who dabbled deep into the darkest arts that any mage of a better nature would have left well alone. A conjurer of the dead.

A necromancer.

He stood as he had so many times before with his back to the cells, ignoring the muffled snorts and growls from the throng of miserable creatures. He shuffled through scraps and sheets of parchment covered in a thin spidery script and complex looking illustrations. To one side of the desk a stack of ancient tomes with archaic words scribed on the covers stood. Most covered with dust and what looked like dark brown stains but it was not ink..

One lay open and as Hadvar finally found what he had been seeking amongst the rustling papers he turned to the book and regarded it critically for a few moments, then laying both aside he drew forth from a deep pocket a crystal the colour of midnight. He moved to approach on of the Falmers rank cells.

His features were hidden by a deep hood that threw a shadow over the mans face and yet it seemed that a ghost of a fleeting smile could be seen briefly before he stepped into the pool of shadow just outside his luckless victims prison. There he raised the crystal and muttered something and as he did the unfortunate creature inside screamed...

Xxx

Kyr Free-Winter bent his head against the cold biting wind and wished he was back home in the College of Winterhold in front of a roaring fireplace a jug of mead and some rosy apples in front of him and not for the first time. However much he wished that this were so however it could not happen yet for he had been apprenticed to one of the Mages in Windhelm and though fair the man was a hard master often sending the young man out on errands in the middle of the night.

Sighing Kyr hefted the heavy book he was holding and grasped it tighter to his chest trying to ignore the chill that had settled into his fingers. Around him snow was falling heavily reducing visibility to near zero, though he had been in the domicile for at least a month now and knew his path well.

Reaching the palace steps he nodded in greeting to the two guards standing either side of the wall and felt a pang of pity for them out on duty on such a bleak night. They said nothing but returned his nod and then went back to staring straight ahead their breath billowing from the helms atop there heads like dragonsmoke. Kyr shivered and not only from the cold. He had only been a young man during the dragon incursions and could not remember much but he had listened to the stories that others had told in the inns during the long nights when he was not studying and thought they seemed fearful and he was glad that an end had finally been brought to them.

Pushing through the main doors of the palace he walked up alongside a long table laden with food still at this late hour. A few people sat and talked in hushed tones casting a look his way when he lingered too long, swallowing he moved to one of the doors leading off from the hall but not before casting a furtive glance at the stone dais and chair where Ulfric Stormcloak had greeted him upon his first entering the palace. The warrior was not there now and Kyr moved off up a long corridor towards the rooms of his master.

As he walked he vaguely wondered what the men in the hall had been talking about he had heard but a single word and though he knew what it meant he couldent begin to understand why they should be talking about them in such hushed and secretive tones.

The Falmer...


End file.
